Condemn Me Not (23 page)

“It
must have been a hard thing for you to do, Simone,” Jim said, “giving up that
promotion.”

She
turned to him and smiled.  As a small business owner, Jim understood what it
meant to strive and achieve.  He understood competition, ambition.  He also
understood what it meant to say the buck stopped with him.  Failure forever
loomed, forever threatened.  “It has its moments,” she said.  “But then again, some
of my most valuable lessons in life have been the hardest to come by.  I’ll
live through it.”  And the more she said it, the more she’d believe it to be
true.

“Ditto,”
Claire replied.

Concern
sideswiped Jim’s demeanor and Claire touched his forearm.  “I’m talking about
Sarah, honey.”  Then to the group, she announced, “I received a journal from
her yesterday.”

“A
journal?” Mitchell questioned.

She
nodded.  “It’s going to be our way to reconnect.”

Everyone
understood the breadth of the statement, the lost years, the heartbreak of
distance and time.  Simone knew it lay at the crux of her resistance to
Rebecca’s move to Paris.  Claire had been devastated when her sister moved on,
almost as though it were a personal insult to her.  Even now, Simone noted how
Claire clutched at her glass, her grip tighter than need be.

“We
have so much to talk about—the phone bills would be outrageous,” Claire
continued, “so we’re going to write.”  Claire’s budding excitement ballooned as
she caught glimpse of Rebecca across the crowded room.  Her daughter was absolutely
glowing as she shared her big day with her friends.

Immersed
in her dreams, the adventure ahead, the girl was radiant, happier than Claire
had ever seen her look.  Her heart pitched.  She was so proud of Rebecca.  So
proud of everything she’d accomplished to date, so proud of everything she had
yet to do.  Her baby was happy.  Claire’s emotions squeezed within her chest. 
She couldn’t ask for more—other than to share the future with her.

Today
wasn’t about what she’d lost.  It was about what her daughter was gaining.

Would
Rebecca forget her modest home in the suburbs of Boston?  Would she become
enamored with the glamorous life of Parisians, the rich history of the
Champs-Élysées, the romance of lamp-lit boulevards?  Maybe.  But Claire would
do everything in her power to keep the home fires burning in her daughter’s
heart.

While
browsing the shelves of the bookstore the day before, she’d picked out a
journal to give to Rebecca as the two boarded the plane to France next month. 
Shiny red leather with gold-edged pages, it had the image of a globe embossed on
the front cover.  She’d chosen it because she wanted her daughter to know that she
supported her travels.  Around the continent, around the world, wherever Rebecca
went—she would support her.  She would not lose touch.  Claire’s heart constricted,
and she forced herself to breathe. 
Breathe in, breathe out
, that’s what
the doctor told her. 
Relax
.

“She’s
gonna be all right,” Jim murmured beside her.

Claire
nodded, privately vowing not to lose touch with her daughter.  Not for one day,
not for one hour, not for one second would she lose touch with Rebecca.  She’d made
that mistake once.  She would not do so again.

“She’ll
find her way and make something of herself, you’ll see.”

“I
know,” she mouthed to her husband, overwhelmed by the sentiment.  Claire didn’t
doubt him for a second.  But how was a woman’s worth measured—her family and
home life?  Her success at the office?  How did one decide there was value in her
contribution?  And who should do the defining?  Parents, society?

She
shook her head, lifted her shoulders a little higher and glanced about the
room.  Her children were surrounded by affection.  They were happy and healthy
and she couldn’t ask for more.  Claire’s life held value—because she loved,
because she was loved.  And Simone.  She gathered her best friend close within
her sights.  Mitchell’s arm was comfortably around his wife’s waist, the two
standing shoulder to shoulder, proud and confident.  Simone was no different. 
She loved, and she was loved, the two a solid team.  They were a partnership in
every sense of the word.

“Congratulations,”
Teresa said, idling up behind the group.

Everyone
turned toward her, Claire seized by a fleeting tension.  Of course Teresa would
be in attendance.  Had she and Simone made amends?  “Thank you,” she said quickly,
her gaze darting to Simone.

Dark
eyes sparked with challenge as Teresa said, “You’ve raised a fine young woman. 
You too,” she added, including Mitchell in her praise.  She arched a brow and
glanced in Mariah’s direction.  “To hear her tell it, she’s got some pretty big
plans ahead of her.”

“Yes,
she does,” Simone replied, a touch too cool for Claire’s comfort.

Teresa
smiled.  “You should be proud of her.”

Simone
looked Teresa and responded head on, “I am.”

“We
are,” Mitchell agreed.

Teresa
chuckled, mirth simmering in her expression.  “She told me about your
promotion.”  Emotion swamped her eyes, glittering in the black of her gaze
beneath the bright chandelier.  “I’ve got to hand it to you.  You’re a great
mom.”

Simone
stared at her sister.

Claire
stood by in stunned silence.

“You
raised a sharp, intelligent and loving child whom you obviously love more than
your career.  I’m proud of you, Simone.  Not every career woman would have done
that.”

The
first hint of pleasure pulled at Simone’s lips.

Mitchell
hugged Simone to his side.  “I didn’t marry just any career woman.”  He pecked
her cheek.  “I married the top of the line.”

Relief
flooded into Claire’s chest.  “That you did,” she said to him, and allowing her
gaze to drift about the room, the people, the celebration, she inhaled the
comfort of her closest friends and family.  It filled her with peace.  It
filled her with satisfaction.  She was happy.  They were happy.  Living was about
being with family, celebrating love.

# # #

The End

Did you enjoy the read?  Would
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Condemn Me Not - http://ow.ly/hpikp

About the author:

Dianne Venetta lives in Central
Florida with her husband, two children and their part-time Yellow Lab
Cody-boy!  An avid gardener, she spends her spare time growing organic
vegetables, surprised by what she finds there every day. 
Who knew there
were so many amazing similarities between men and plants
?  Her discoveries
provide endless fun on her garden blog, BloominThyme.com.

Look for Dianne Venetta’s other
novels:

JENNIFER’S GARDEN

LUST ON THE ROCKS

WHISPER PRIVILEGES

# # #

Coming April 2013:  The Ladd
Springs series

Read
an excerpt…

Chapter One

Crouched in the Tennessee mountain brush, Delaney Wilkins pushed
up from her knees and moved further into the thicket for a better view.  Beneath
the canopy of laurel and oaks, the scent of wet earth and decomposing leaves rose
thick in the air around her.  She craned her head to look between the trees. 
Some blackened, others gray, trunks stood in varying stages of decay, victims
to the slew of storms that ripped through the area several years back.  From
what she could tell, there were two of them.  Two strangers.  By the outline of
their build, the rough jerk to their movements, they appeared to be men.  But
gender didn’t matter.  Trespassers were trespassers and they were on
her
land.

Delaney held her breath and suppressed all thought but one.  No
one was supposed to be in this part of the woods.  Whoever they were, they were
trespassing.  Did they venture too far off the USFS trail and get lost?

Her instincts hummed.  These two were up to no good, she was sure
of it.  They seemed pretty intent on whatever it was they were doing to be lost
hikers.  She could hear their voices, but was unable to make out the details of
their conversation, or what—exactly—they were doing. 
Damn it
, she had
to get closer.

A quick survey of her surroundings told her the answer wasn’t here. 
Not unless she wanted to take up cliff diving down the slope before her,
causing a ruckus that would obviously reveal her presence.  Delaney scanned the
upper ridge beyond the men.  The trail behind her would take her to the top,
but it was a twenty minute hike at a good clip.  She dropped focus back to the
strangers.  But they could be gone by then.  There
was
one other way. 
She spied the narrow trail leading off to her left.  It was a footpath she had
forged years ago, one created as her secret weapon in games of “seek and
destroy” played with her cousin, Jeremiah Ladd.  It was their version of “hide
and seek” and at one time, she had used the trail to kick his butt.  At the
moment, it would serve to get her thirty feet closer.  Unfortunately, the pace
she’d have to travel to remain undetected would prove excruciatingly slow.

Delaney considered her
options.  Her Palomino, Sadie, was tied to a post at the base, the landmark her
family had built to mark the opening for this trail.  If she had to get
anywhere fast, she knew Sadie would take her.  Though physical confrontation
wasn’t her concern—not with the pistol holstered snug in her boot.

Gravel and sticks crunched behind
her.  A thunderbolt of fear slammed into her.  Shooting hand to boot, she
whirled, ready to pounce.

“Hi,” came the whisper.

With a sharp intake of
breath, Delaney recovered from the initial shock and took in the unexpected
sight of Nick Harris. 
What the hell
?

There, in the middle of the
path, the six foot four man stood like a fool.

Balancing herself with a
hand to a cold rock, she waved him downward.  “Get down,” she hissed, her pulse
continuing to hammer.  Surprise swirled around the distinct mark of suspicion teeming
in his swarthy black eyes as he spied the hand sliding free from her boot.  With
a quick check on her quarry, she growled under her breath, “And be quiet!”

Squatting, he glanced in the
direction she’d been looking and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said, her
focus darting between him and the men.  “Why are you following me?”

“I saw your horse tied to
the post and became concerned.”

“Don’t be,” she snapped.

Across the woods, the men
rose to their full height and it was then Delaney got her first decent look at
them.  One was tall and bulky, the other was short and wiry.  Wearing tattered
cowboy hats and dirty T-shirts, they weren’t tourists.  Were they squatters?

Laughter punctuated the
quiet, drawing Nick’s quick attention.  “Who are they?” he demanded instantly.

“Don’t know,” she replied,
wondering what the men would do next.

“Let’s get out of here.”  He
came forward and pulled at her arm.  “Those men could be trouble.”

Delaney shot him a hard
glance and jerked away from his grasp.  “Those men are trespassing on my land. 
If anyone needs to get out of here, it’s them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he
said.  “If they’re trespassers, you need to call the police.”

She privately scoffed at the
notion.  Calling the police would not help her discover why they were here.  It
would only alert these men to the fact that she was onto them.  The larger man
suddenly slapped the shorter on the back and said something, but not loud
enough for her to discern the first word.  Angst shimmied through her belly as
they collected their belongings.  They were leaving!

Within seconds, the
strangers took off in the opposite direction.  Delaney shot to her feet.  Where
were they going?  That trail didn’t lead back to the government forest land. 
It
led straight back to her cabin
.

“I’m getting you out of
here,” Nick said, his voice closing in on her back.

Delaney wasn’t going
anywhere, especially with Nick Harris.  “I’m going after them,” she said, right
after she searched the vicinity from whence they departed.

“Oh, no you’re not.”  Nick
encircled a large, firm palm around her bare bicep.

Hot and unwelcome against
her skin, his hand tightened.  The hair on the nape of her neck prickled in
rebellion.  She turned to him and looked up into his face, noting his thick
brow gathered in a storm of its own.  “Excuse me?”

“I’m not about to let you
run off and chase after strangers.  Those men could be up to no good.”